


the beat my heart skips

by Nevcolleil



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 50 Shades of Grey Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bondage, Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Powerplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: A collection of moments among many that become possible when Thomas Greene begins an internship at WCKDapps, a tech company that's risen to the top of its industry. Thomas catches the eye of Newt Isaacs, founder of WCKDapps and its young CEO.Thomas may have a small crush on the intensely private, provocatively intense tech mogul.(Okay. So maybe it isn't so small.)And maybe Thomas gets more than he asked for when he finds out that Newt manages the stresses of his life - and of his troubled past - by inviting men into his secret playroom and dominating the fuck out of them. Because Newt has invited Thomas to be his exclusive submissive for the duration of their relationship.But how could Thomas say no to a chance - any chance - to be with a man like Newt?(He can't. Especially after he learns how much he likes being the guest of honor in Newt's Green Room..)





	1. In Which Thomas Meets Alby

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly idea, but it won't leave my head. The first post of this idea is on my tumblr. [Read it here](http//nevcolleil.tumblr.com/post/170958934325/a-newtmas-modernfifty-shades-au-no-one-asked).

“You think I don’t have what Newt needs?” Thomas keeps his voice strong (he hopes he sounds strong), but honestly he can feel his heart in his throat.

He likes Alby. Alby’s a cool guy... and he’s a good friend to Newt - Thomas can see that. But nobody’s opinion of what he and Newt do together means enough to Thomas to make him question what they have.

Except.

What Alby’s just said... About whether or not Thomas has “the chops” to be a long-term part of Newt’s life-

Well, that didn’t sound much like Alby. Or. What Thomas knows of how Alby sounds.

It sounded like Newt. 

Is _Newt_ questioning what he and Thomas have?

The thought shouldn’t affect Thomas so strongly. It’s not like he hasn’t been expecting, since day one, for Newt to wake up one morning and suddenly realize that he’s been wasting his time on a nerd from the intern pool. That he’s _Newt Isaacs_ , multibillionaire - entrepreneur. Number thirteen on Forbes’s ‘Sexiest CEOs Under Forty’, and the youngest guy on the list. The guy who’s gonna revolutionize the tech industry one day soon, Thomas just knows it. 

But it does. It _does_ affect him, while Alby carries on like he can’t see Thomas sort of crumbling inside. (If the gods are kind... he can’t. If this is Alby’s way of warning Thomas that Newt is just about done with him, the guy probably already thinks that Thomas is pathetic. He’d rather Alby not walk away from this conversation with proof.)

“I think the guys who come in here...,” he says, glancing around them, but Thomas knows that he’s not talking about Newt’s penthouse. He’s talking about the maze of passageways that hide within its walls. Each one starting behind a secret door - made to disappear, seamlessly, into the woodwork, or hidden behind a rotating bookshelf, an elaborate tapestry - and ending in the same location.

The Green Room. Newt’s playroom.

And now... Thomas’s playroom too. The only one he’s ever been in.

(The only one he ever wants to be.)

“I think they get this idea that because Newt calls the shots during sex,” Alby is saying, “all they gotta do, to be a part of his life is just do what he says. Stroke his ego. Look all pretty and eager to please and shit, and they get what they can out of that-”

“Okay, first of all,” Thomas responds without thinking, distracted from his fears for the moment by sudden, _seething_ offense, “Fuck you.”

He’s so pissed off, in fact, that he doesn’t register the way Alby’s lips curl at the ends, just a little - just for a second. The way his eyes twitch like they’d be rolling if he didn’t mind missing a moment of the expected hissyfit he’s just inspired in his best friend’s newest plaything.

Thomas also doesn’t register the way Alby’s face goes blank, a minute later, in pure surprise.

“It’s not _ego_ , alright? That’s not what this is about.” The last thing Newt needs is someone “pretty” to stroke his ego - the man is a genius. He’s self-made, and he has the confidence to show for it. If he ever _did_ feel inadequate, even after all that he’s accompished... all that he’s become, he wouldn’t take that feeling with him into the Green Room.

‘It’s not about taking your power away from you,’ Newt told him, the very first time he led Thomas to his inner sanctuary - as he stripped Thomas slowly, so slowly. Interspersing each removed article of clothing with tantalizing brushes of his lips across Thomas’s skin. (Thomas had been directed not to move, no matter how Newt touched him.) ‘It’s about earning the power you give to me. Making you feel so good under my control that it pleases you just to give it up. And that’s what I plan to do with you tonight, Tommy. I plan to earn your power. To please you so well that you’re _begging_ to give it up for me by the time I’m ready for you to relinquish it completely.’

There’s no way Thomas is explaining all of that to Alby, even if the man is supposed to be Newt’s closest confidant (outside of Thomas? Or so Thomas wishes he was fearless enough to let himself believe.)

“Oh, yeah, Greenie?” Alby genuinely asks, although to Thomas that name makes his words sound like a taunt. “What’s it about?”

It’s not about whatever it had been for all of the other guys who have come before Thomas. Thomas is sure of that. All the guys Alby says he would just call ‘Greenie’ because he knew when he met them that they wouldn’t be around long enough to make him care about their names.

Guys as shallow or just unattached as Alby apparently believes Thomas to be. In it only for themselves and what being with a man like Newt can give them.

There’s no way Thomas is explaining any of that to Alby, though, either.

“Look, I know there’s more to making Newt happy than just playing his fucking sex games, alright?” Thomas says instead. “I don’t know if _he_ always knows that... but I’ve been working on it.”

He’ll _keep_ working on it, Thomas decides right here, right now.

If Newt’s starting to cotton onto the fact that maybe he traded a bit too far down when he let his last playmate go to start things with Thomas... Well, then. Thomas is just going to have to find a way to pull the blinders back over Newt’s eyes. At least long enough for him to prove to Newt that happiness doesn’t have to come with a contract or with a ‘dissolution of terms’.

If Newt decides, in the face of that proof, that Thomas has a couple of qualities that maybe could even be considered a trade _up_... That would be the best thing Thomas can hope for.

But even if he doesn’t, Newt can be the one to tell Thomas so himself. Fuck Alby’s warnings. 

“You do that, Thomas,” Alby says with a sudden grin. A grin Thomas doesn’t see at first, sure that he’s being mocked.

“Yeah, I will,” he promises with narrowed eyes as the man finally turns to leave.

Thomas doesn’t relax, in fact, until Alby is almost all of the way out of the penthouse.

Then he realizes what Alby said - and how he said it. “Wait. _What_?”

Alby’s chuckle carries all the way to Thomas from the elevator bay.

“Tell shuckface to give me a call, okay? I think I owe him an apology this time,” Alby calls to him just before the elevator doors close.

Thomas remains absolutely silent for a full moment.

And then all he can do is repeat...

“ _Wait_. What?”

The penthouse doesn’t answer back at him


	2. In Which Thomas and Newt Discuss What He Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not about Thomas and Newt's kink negotiation... that will be a significantly longer update. But it's a moment I wanted to write in Thomas point of view that involves some discussion of his and Newt's roles. If it ends sooner than you'd like, know that there *will* be an update explaining _exactly_ what comes next, soon-ish. But I'd rather keep this moment separate, as once Thomas and Newt are together in the Green Room, this night is going to be from Newt's point of view.

The fact that anyone can look at Newt and not immediately sense the authority he carries boggles Thomas no end.

Of course, no one who knows who Newt is has ever made that mistake in front of Thomas. Everyone at WCKDapps, from the people in the mailroom up to the top executives, defers to Newt - and not just in a I-wanna-keep-my-job way. Doormen, drivers, and wait staff only show him a prefunctory deference at first, but by the second time they see him they practically fall all over themselves to keep him happy, above and beyond what is called for by their positions. It’s not just about his money or prestige - it’s how he carries himself. It’s how he looks you in the eye, how he talks to everyone with exactly the same casual patience and quiet astuteness.

Newt carries himself like he could carry you too if he had to, whoever you are. He looks you in the eye like he _sees_ you, which is something Thomas hadn’t even realized how few people really do. 

They haven’t interacted a lot with other people in the d/s lifestyle, if that’s what you want to call what he and Newt do together. Newt’s a very private person, normally, and he can hardly risk some corporate paparazzi splashing tabloid covers with a bunch of “reports” about his “perverse sexlife”. 

Sometimes Newt’s buddies who have similar tastes hold swanky parties, though, and there’s a couple of clubs in the city that are notorious for their dedication to their VIP customers’ privacy, so Newt’s taken Thomas to those a time or two.

It never fails at the clubs. If they don’t dress accordingly, with cuffs to signify which of them is which or a collar for Thomas, then some asshole - either new to the life or just visiting - will just assume that Newt is Thomas’s submissive.

It would piss Thomas off if watching Newt step forward and verbally smack assholes upside their heads wasn’t so amusing - and so hot.

“I can never tell if you’re taking the piss when you say that,” Newt says, his lips moving against the stretch of Thomas’s throat, “Or if you’re just being kind.” He starts to nibble when he gets closer to Thomas’s collarbone, and other than a sharp intake of breath, Thomas tries to keep his breathing level and not moan.

Newt gives him challenges sometimes. Thomas enjoys them. Tonight’s challenge was to try and be as quiet as possible in his reactions to Newt’s touch. So far he’s made it through a dinner (Newt palmed him under the table until he was leaking), drinks at the club (where Newt loudly narrated how their drive home would go, regardless of who was standing near enough to hear) and the actual drive home (during which Newt made good on his promises and blew Thomas with the glass separating them from Newt’s driver, Winston, half-lowered.) Thomas has mostly managed to restrain his reactions to shaky breathing, a single whimper, and a few gasps.

“Or if you genuinely can’t see how someone might look at the two of us and form that common misconception,” Newt finishes with a particularly sharp nip at the dip between Thomas’s shoulder and neck. 

Thomas squirms. He usually maintains some kind of dignity up until Newt starts actively undoing him (he tries anyway). But having to curb any vocal reactions to Newt’s kisses, licks, and bites... The warmth of his nearness, the scent of him - those eyes peering into Thomas like he sees Thomas best of all...

Thomas has to squirm or he won’t be able to think, and he can hear the note of sincerity in Newt’s voice that means he isn’t just playing with Thomas. He’s seriously asking.

Which- 

Fuck those stereotypes. 

He and Newt are both tall, both fit. Where he’s more tan, Newt has a fair complexion; where Thomas’s muscle gives him just a little bulk in his shoulders, his arms and thighs, Newt’s musculature is leaner. Those are all _stupid_ reasons to assume that Thomas is the one between the two of them who is “in charge”. He doesn’t care what a “common misconception” it is.

“You’re a leader, Tommy,” Newt says, fingertips - fuck, yes - finally finding the knot of Thomas’s tie, his shirt buttons. “Natural born.”

‘What, and you’re not?’ Thomas would ask. And Newt would probably laugh and say something about preferring to delegate, but Newt chooses that moment to lever himself from sitting next to Thomas to straddling Thomas’s lap, and the words tangle with the sound that Newt nearly startles out of him in the process.

Thomas’s hands go to Newt’s thighs. Nothing was said tonight about touching without permission - and that’s their rule. Newt doesn‘t expect anything from Thomas that he doesn‘t make clear ahead of time.

“People are drawn to you for it,” Newt is saying. “You think I haven’t noticed? Have _you_ not noticed? You’re a risk-taker, Tommy. And yet you are unselfish... observant. Giving. That screams dominance to those who are looking for it. And they’re not half wrong... I believe you would be a _fantastic_ dom, Tommy.”

By now Newt’s worked his way through all of Thomas’s buttons - literally and figuratively. He has Thomas’s shirt open and spread and is scratching lightly at Thomas’s chest, trailing his fingers along the lines of Thomas’s muscles, tugging lightly from time to time at Thomas’s chest hair. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Thomas’s nipples until they bead up, and he squeezes lightly at the bulge in Thomas’s pants before going back to those light scratches and soft touches, keeping Thomas constantly guessing how he’s going to touch him next.

But that’s only part of the reason that Thomas’s pulse keeps quickening.

“If I wanted it,” Thomas feels compelled to clarify - as if Newt needs the clarification. As if he doesn’t _know_ , wasn’t the one who showed Thomas the truth himself.

“ _If_ you wanted it,” Newt agrees, smiling softly - reassuringly - at Thomas. He slides one hand up Thomas’s chest and around the back of Thomas’s neck, gripping him lightly there at the nape, eyes on Thomas’s the whole time.

Thomas releases a shuddery breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and Newt nods almost like he appreciates Thomas’s reactions as a sort of reassurance himself.

“If you wanted it,” he repeats, bringing their faces closer together... closer. But not kissing - not yet. “But you don’t, do you, Tommy? You don’t _need_ it... Not like you need me.”

“Fuck, no,” Thomas barely breathes, eyes torn between Newt’s knowing gaze and his softly curled lips.

“You need to feel as though they aren’t all your risks, yes? Not your responsibility. All you have to do is let yourself be lead... and to be lead somewhere you ultimately wish to be.”

“Newt...”

“Do you wish to choose where I lead you tonight, Tommy?” Newt says, voice slipping slightly into _that_ voice. The one Thomas only really hears consistently in the Green Room. Not so different from Newt’s normal voice, actually, but Thomas doesn’t think he’s imagining the slightly more forceful tone... the slightly deeper register. In any case, having experienced what he has with that voice in his ear the whole time, directing and praising or scolding depending on Thomas’s behavior, the voice _sounds_ forceful and deep to Thomas. Promising. Ominous - but in the way that really good things can be ominous, because they’re so good it’s almost scary. 

Thomas hesitates, but ultimately he shakes his head.

Newt’s smile grows sharp, and Thomas nearly squirms again.

Of course Newt hadn’t missed the hesitation.

“The bloody hell you don’t.”

“I-”

“Here’s what I wish,” Newt tells him, his grip tightening only so much so that Thomas can feel it and falls silent. “I want you to finish undressing and put away your clothes,” he says, fully in his Green voice now. “Then I want you to wait for me in the Green Room, naked.”

Thomas swallows. “Yes, Newt,” he says simply. 

And Newt rewards him with that softer smile and a light peck on his lips.

“I want you to have chosen the surface I’m going to fuck you on,” he says with their mouths still touching, so he feels the small gasp he startles out of Thomas and last, and his lips curve further.

“Y-yes.”

“And choose wisely, Tommy...,” he suggests. “Whatever I do to you tonight, I’m not going to do it quickly.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Thomas moans, and Newt chuckles.

Thomas _enjoys_ Newt’s challenges... but he’s still learning to get good at them.

“Go on, then,” Newt says without commenting on the slip. “Show me what you need from me, Tommy.”

That’s a challenge Thomas knows he can lose himself in, and it would be terrifying if he was doing this with anyone other than Newt.

Newt always follows Thomas down, however deep he sinks into himself when they play these games.

And Newt always brings him home, freer for having made the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so_ thankful for the comments I've gotten on this fic. You beautiful few who enjoy the idea as much as I do gave me the courage and motivation to keep it going. As I said before, there will be more - there _is_ , but it needs polishing. I hope this little bit doesn't disappoint in the meantime.


	3. In Which Newt and Thomas Play (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - and the next - are where this fic earns its rating. I don't so much traipse into porn territory as nosedive into it. Please judge whether or not that is what you want to read.
> 
> Also, I hope the style of this particular story - posted in disjointed snippets - isn't too off-putting. I really can't visualize it in anything but bursts, so that's how I'm writing and posting it, to keep it moving. Let me know what you think.

The first time he and Thomas use the chair, Newt walks into the Green Room finally approaching that headspace that - before - had only ever seemed open to him like this. When he plays like this with an eager partner. 

He can finally feel them, the cares of his day, oozing out of him: all of the pressures of maintaining an enterprise as ambitious as WCKD Tech has become; his sister’s continued requests to come and visit. Memories of Ava have haunted Newt throughout his day, as they often do around this time of year - more so than at any other. Even a trip to The Glade has served little purpose, on this night, save to mount an already mounting tension at the back of Newt’s eyes, in the muscles of his back and shoulders. 

All those jealous gazes that had watched him with Thomas at the club... Usually, Newt would relish the attention, in as controlled and discreet an environment as The Glade. But tonight Newt felt a restlessness when he and Thomas finally left that usually comes when he hasn’t engaged in powerplay for too long. Not _while_ he’s initiating it. 

It took the car ride home and extensive ~~cuddling~~ foreplay on his couch to fix Newt thus far. 

And while it would be a lie to say that such play is what really did the trick - it’s a lie that Newt clings to. He has _such_ plans for his Tommy this evening. 

Then he gets to the room... and Thomas is sitting in _the chair_.

It takes everything in him for Newt not to gasp aloud. 

‘I want you to have chosen the surface I’m going to fuck you on,’ he told Thomas when he sent him to undress and prepare. It didn’t occur to him in the slightest that Thomas might choose _this_ particular surface, and Newt forces himself not to instantly imagine what it will look like to have Thomas fully secured to it. What it will _feel_ like-

It’s possible Thomas has no idea what he’s asking for. 

“Well, well, Tommy,” Newt says as evenly as he can. He removed his jacket, tie, shoes and socks before taking the passage from the master bedroom to the Green Room, but he kept his shirt and pants. He casually begins unbuttoning his shirt as Thomas watches, his eager eyes on Newt’s gradually exposed skin the most flattering of caresses.

“Aren’t you feeling adventurous tonight?” he asks, carefully folding the shirt and setting it on top of the nearest of the sidetables placed around the room. 

“Is this alri-” Thomas starts to ask, before reconsidering his choice in words. “I thought we could try this one,” he says, arms on the armrests of the heavy, ornately carved oakwood chair. 

He’s sitting casually enough despite his nakedness and arousal, legs not spread wide enough to flaunt, but enough that Newt can clearly see both the erect cock and full balls nestled among the dark hair concentrated between his strong thighs.

He looks like a god. A dark god with his sunkissed skin and dark, tousled hair. In the atmospheric lighting set as default in the Green Room, his brown eyes look more like amber. They almost seem to glow as he watches Newt’s every movement avidly.

Thomas looks like a god, perched on his throne awaiting worship, and Newt can’t imagine a more accurate analogy, even though this is essentially Newt’s kindgdom - and Thomas has come here to submit his will to Newt with a fealty fit for a subject submitting himself to his king.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this one?” Newt asks, carefully softening and neutralizing the tone of his voice so that Thomas will know that he’s asking seriously. This isn’t a part of their game, although Newt does lean in - hands on Thomas’s forearms for balance, stood between Thomas’s legs, to kiss Thomas as he speaks, rewarding Thomas’s self-correction. 

The first discussion they had on the topic of their needs - the ones pertinent to _this_ facet of their relationship - was about seeking and receiving validation. Newt had sensed, well before he’d decided to dare introduce Thomas to this lifestyle, that the last thing Thomas needs in his life is another person hawkishly gauging for him how well he’s satisfied a seemingly open question or request. And that insight was proven true when Thomas filled out Newt’s paperwork, indicating that he is not comfortable with anything more than mild and private humiliation, scolding, or derision. 

‘When I give you a choice, in here,’ Newt told Thomas, as part of that conversation, ‘you needn’t overthink it, out of fear of disappointing me. You _can’t_ disappoint me, Tommy. You might knowingly disobey me, or you might behave thoughtlessly, and when you do, you’ll receive a punishment that you and I have agreed upon. But you won’t disappoint me.’  
Now Thomas looks down at the chair he’s sitting on. Sturdy eyelet hooks line each side of the back of the chair and each of the chair’s arms and legs. In the seat and the back of the chair are yet more hooks, evenly spaced in neat rows and inset into deep recesses drilled into the wood so that they wont poke or chafe.

“It’s just for getting tied up, right?” Thomas says. “Like. Bondage?” 

God, he’s a treasure. He _blushes_. Sitting on an instrument of sexual pleasure (or torture, depending upon Newt’s partner and mood) in a room where he has learned everything he knows about powerplay and sexual submission... Thomas blushes because he’s used the proper name for a thing he’s actually done now twice, if by no means at the level that he’s unwittingly signed up for tonight.

“This chair isn’t for _just_ anything,” Newt explains, unable to keep his amusement (or his fondness, likely) out of his voice, and not even trying to mask the heat in it. “It and what we did on that rack over there are both bondage, the way my motorbike and a tricycle are both methods of transportation.”

Newt is scratching now at Thomas’s chest with one hand and nosing at the side of Thomas’s neck as he speaks - because he can, obviously - so he not only hears Thomas’s breath stutter, he _feels_ it.

“If I bind you to this chair as you are meant to be bound in it,” he continues, “You won’t be able to move at all. Not to squirm. Not to arch into my touch or shift away from it. Not even to turn your head." Oh, Newt tries to avoid the visuals his own words inspire in his head, but they are irresistable. 

“You will be made absolutely motionless while I play with you,” he keeps talking. Stroking his fingertips up and down Thomas’s torso from collarbone to hipbone, peppering kisses along his jaw and throat. “This chair was created for the intent purpose of rendering someone entirely helpless... so that they can be teased to the edge of completion, and denied, again and again... and again. Until I see fit to relieve you or release you.”

“Fuck, Newt...” he gets Thomas to break at long last, and he grins.

“Is that a formal request, then,” he teases, about to offer a compromise. He has plenty of ties in the Green Room he can use to bind just Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair. Perhaps he can cinch one strap around Thomas’s shoulders and another around his thighs, to give him a taste of more limited motion.

But Thomas astounds him by breathing into the next kiss that actually lands on Thomas’s mouth.

“Hell, yeah,” he all but moans. “Do it. Show me the difference.”

“Tommy...”

“Please, Newt. That sounds- That sounds fucking amazing.”

Of _course_ it does. Of course Tommy, new as he is to submission - fucking _virginal_ , basically, as he was entirely when Newt first introduced the concept to him - finds the idea of such an extreme all the hotter for its extremity. There isn’t a hint of fear or wariness in his tone, just lust.

That’s it. That’s all Newt needs to once and for all “throw the switch”, as Thomas likes to say, on Newt’s stresses and insecurities for the evening. His Tommy is asking almost desperately to be taken in a manner he _hand-picked_ himself, alone and uninfluenced before Newt was even in the room.

Newt will be careful with Thomas, it goes without saying; he’ll be gentle and check in often. 

But he won’t be compromising tonight. Thomas’s ‘please, Newt’ has settled that.

“Well, I can’t very well deny such a bloody sweet request as that, now can I?” Newt says, smacking one quick, hard kiss more on top of Thomas’s lips. He feels a smirk shape his lips when Thomas leans forward, slightly, chasing the contact as he draws back. “You’ve just one choice more to make then. Silk or leather, Tommy? What would you rather be bound with?”

If Thomas chooses the leather... Newt might need to remove himself from the room for a moment, just to recenter himself. This is just all so much more than he was expecting, even after the other nights he and Thomas have shared in this room - each similarly mind-blowing in their surprises and the surprising way they managed to affect Newt, who is as far from virginal in dominance and submission as a bloke can be.

In fact, Newt is almost relieved when Thomas chooses silk. He knows how to reel a sub back in, damn it. To form a sense for when one is aiming too far too fast as to what he can handle and actually enjoy. 

The thing is... as new as Thomas is to all of this, Newt doesn’t get that sense from him. And the rarity of finding someone so naturally suited to submission... without ever having explored that side of himself before Newt- Someone who is also, somehow, so perfectly suited to _Newt _... so compatible with him, even outside of their sexual relationship...__

__Newt almost distrusts what his instincts tell him Thomas can and can’t handle._ _

__Almost. But not enough that he doesn’t trust Thomas when Thomas says again that he wants this._ _

__Newt goes to the set of wardrobes that bookend one wall of the Green Room. The massive armoires were built from the same mahogany as the Green Room’s wainscoating, and embellished on the center panels of each triple-door with the same jade linen as the Green Room’s namesake - the woven wallcoverings that rise up from the mahogany wainscoating to the matching crownmolding above._ _

__From one armoire, Newt takes an armful of ropes and sashes in a darker green, and from the other he takes a small square floor cushion._ _

__He returns to Thomas and drops the floor cushion directly in front of him. “Feet to either side,” he orders simply, and Thomas obeys without question, although his eyes say quite a bit._ _

__As do his fists, curling around the edges of the armrests. The next breath he takes sounds raw, shaken._ _

__Newt doesn’t give him time to level it out. He drops his armful of satin on the floor besides the chair... and kneels on the cushion, placing his hands on Thomas’s spread knees._ _

__“Before we begin, I have a new challenge for you,” Newt says, “Since you’ve done so well with the other.” Even that small bit of praise pinks Thomas’s skin again and brings a look to his eyes of such _gratitude_ -_ _

__Newt smiles for him, even as he allows his voice to slip into the register that Thomas always responds to most beautifully. Something not quite stern - but decisive. Patient but encouraging. “That means you no longer have to limit your sounds,” Newt tells him “In fact, I want to hear you. Whatever feels good... I want to hear _how_ good from the sounds coming out of your mouth. Understand, Tommy? Tell me what I’ve just said so I know that you do.”_ _

__“You want- You want to hear me,” Thomas summarizes immediately._ _

__“That’s right,” Newt confirms, massaging Thomas’s kneecaps lightly as they speak. “I want you to respond.” Then he reaches for Thomas’s hands and gently, but firmly, uncurls Thomas’s fists. He holds Thomas’s gaze with his own, trying to project with it a bit more persuasion than encouragement - that decisiveness of a second before, only with an edge of command to weight it. And he lets that heaviness sober his expression as well._ _

__Before, Newt spoke to Thomas in such a way as to make it clear that they weren’t yet ready to play._ _

__Now he wants it unmistakeable that the game has most certainly begun._ _

__“And that is the only way I want you to respond, if you can manage,” he says, lying Thomas’s hands palms down on the armrest. “I don’t want you to move. Not even like this,” Newt clarifies, rubs his hands over Thomas’s - stretching the fingers out flat and pressing down lightly so that Thomas will get his meaning._ _

__“Fuck. Newt...”_ _

__“Yes. Cursing you can do,” Newt says. “Curse. Moan. _Scream_ if you’d like. But. Do. Not. _Move_ , Tommy. I want to remind you of exactly what I’m about to take from you. What you’ve chosen to _give_ to me.”_ _

__Thomas curses a few words more, but he does it - Newt can see how the muscles in his thighs, his abdomen, and his shoulders tense and flex. How he struggles not to squirm, his cock twitching once - uncontrollably - between his now lightly shaking thighs._ _

__“That’s right,” Newt says again. “That’s good, Tommy.”_ _

__“Jesus Christ, Newt.”_ _

__“You can do it,” Newt says faithfully. “Can’t you, Tommy? Give me your color.”_ _

__“ _Fuck_ ,” Thomas curses one more time, but he also gives Newt a breathy but emphatic, “Green. Fuck, so green, man.”_ _

__Newt allows himself a single smirk before he slips back into the role Thomas _needs_ for him to play to actually get into his own._ _

__“Prove it,” he says playfully... and then, with his hands back on Thomas’s knees, he leans forward and mouths Thomas’s cock into position so that he can draw it in, all the way down to the base._ _

__Thomas doesn’t scream... but it’s a very near thing._ _

__“Newt... Oh God, Newt..._ _

__Newt works him quickly with his mouth, suckling on the upstroke, flattening his tongue as he sinks back down._ _

__He thinks Thomas makes up for an entire night of careful breathing and only the occasional gasp in the first few minutes, and the sounds he makes are - as Newt thought they might be - the sweetest fuel for the fire burning in Newt’s gut._ _

__When Newt pulls off, a moment later, Thomas lets out a cut-off cry and whimpers._ _

___And bloody hell_._ _

__He looks glorious. His skin is flushed, the muscles in his arms and thighs and abdomen are all strained tight with the effort not to move. He’s shaking. His face shifts between a tight meu of concentration and an expression of such slack pleasure as Newt replaces his mouth with his hand-_ _

__“Keep your eyes open, Tommy,” Newt spontaneously decides. Thomas complies, and his amber gaze seeks Newt out pleadingly. “Color?”_ _

__“Green,” he huffs, in the softest and shakiest of voices. “Green. Green...”_ _

__Newt sharply twists his wrist. “ _Green_... oh fuck, green, please, green...”_ _

__“Good that,” Newt praises him, and Thomas shudders. “Now focus for a moment,” he continues, slowing his strokes and relaxing his grip slightly. Thomas exhales quickly._ _

__“I want you to try to focus now, not on what you’re feeling, Tommy, but on what you’re doing...,” Newt says, steeling his voice to keep it as even and as calm as he can, in contrast to how affected Thomas’s has become._ _

__“Yes, Newt,” Thomas says, the surest sign yet of just _how_ affected._ _

__“Look at your hands... are they moving?” Newt asks, stroking the back of Thomas’s fingers lightly. Thomas shivers at the contact._ _

__“N-no...”_ _

__“No?” They’re not... not much. Thomas is pressing into the wood of the chair arms, to stop his hands from moving, with enough force that his knuckles and his fingertips have gone white. And if Newt watches Thomas’s hands closely, as he and Thomas both are now, and he strokes Thomas just right..._ _

__Thomas gasps out a tiny, broken moan that only gets louder when Newt rubs the pad of his thumb over the glistening head of Thomas’s cock. Thomas’s hands flex. His shoulders shake and hunch forward just slightly. His knees and thighs shift just the tiniest bit as Thomas fights not to rock up into Newt’s hand, not to squirm. His calves brush Newt’s hips as his legs reflexively move to close around the pleasure Newt is giving him - or to open up further for it._ _

__“ _Fuck_.”_ _

__“You see? You see what the chair is designed to prevent? I asked you not to move, but you can’t help it, can you?”_ _

__Newt places a gentle kiss to the inside of each of Thomas’s thighs, as high up Thomas’s legs as he can, and feels Thomas shudder at the feel of Newt’s hair brushing Thomas’s skin in several sensitive places._ _

__That was to distract him, and Newt continues before the distraction can fade and Thomas can reconsider his words as criticism._ _

__“That’s perfectly alright, Tommy,” he says. “No one can, indefinitely. That’s the purpose of the chair. All these little ways we react to pleasure - ways we don’t even realize, naturally; all these little outlets for the intensity of our sensations... The chair takes them away. It leaves us no choice but to _feel_ everything, without outlet or escape. It allows us nothing to redirect our focus towards, when the pleasure gets to be too much. It takes away even that. While you are bound in this chair, unless you choose to use your safeword, or opt out during a check-in, you will truly be helpless to do anything but take what I choose to give you.”_ _

__It’s... a lot to try and imagine, Newt knows. And while he isn’t surprised that Thomas doesn’t scare at the more explicit description of how the chair is used, Newt is still awed when Thomas does exactly the opposite with his next check-in._ _

__“What’s your-”_ _

__“Green. Definitely green,” Thomas says. “Just-”_ _

__“Questions?” Thomas almost always has questions. Newt can’t possibly express how comforting that is._ _

__“How are you going to fuck me if I’m completely tied up?”_ _

__Thomas always asks the _best_ questions, too. At this rate, Newt will be lucky if he doesn’t come before the last knot of the night is tied and the real fun can start._ _

__“I hardly need to fuck you to enjoy you like this, Tommy,” Newt says - partly because it’s true, and partly to tease. He only lets Thomas pout for a moment, however, before he reassures him. “But the chair does have a couple of convenient... built-ins, if I decide to fuck your mouth. And, of course, I could easily ride you in this position.”_ _

__Thomas groans loudly. “Holy fucking- Both,” Thomas says, looking back at Newt with just the slightest glaze to his eyes when his eyelids stop fluttering almost dramatically. “I vote both.”_ _

__Newt’s thought it before, and he’ll think it again - undoubtedly often before this night is even through: Thomas is a treasure._ _

__“Good that,” he agrees. “Let’s begin then.”_ _


	4. In Which Newt and Thomas Play (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously don't know what my brain is doing. This.
> 
> This is some naughty frickin stuff, I kid you not. Please heed the rating and the tags. Let me know I'm not a complete deviant if you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Sometimes Thomas gets drunk on Newt. 

The world feels softer, fuzzier; time seems to move slower - _Thomas_ feels like he’s moving slower. Like there’s syrup in his veins, although his heart is probably pounding, and his breathing’s almost certainly a mess.

Newt has words for it - the floaty goodness Thomas can practically feel seeping into his bones after he and Newt have been together - and set rules for what he will and won’t do when Thomas feels it. “I’ll check in often the first time we do something you haven’t done before,” Newt said when they discussed how their dominance and submission “games” will play out. “And from time to time whenever we engage in powerplay. Of course, you can always use your safeword or a safe sign to pause or stop what we’re doing completely, but it’s important that you be able to consider and indicate your consent when prompted.”

Newt looked so somber when he said it - so intense. Like he was trying to burn an impression of what he was saying into Thomas with just the heat of that look. “If you ever become too spaced out to tell me that you want what we’re doing, we have to stop,” he said. “That’s non-negotiable, Tommy. I won’t take you past a point where I could hurt you without either of us knowing. You should _never_ , ever scene with someone whose concern for your safety is such that he or she would even consider doing different.”

Thomas was too distracted at the time by the realization of how often Newt does that - talks like he’s teaching Thomas things he fully expects Thomas to do with someone else someday.

Thomas supposes Newt is, but he doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that he doesn’t really like the idea of doing any of this with someone else without sounding childish and naive - or like he doesn’t want to do it at all. 

Because he really... _really_ does.

At the least, Thomas was touched and impressed by how seriously Newt took the issue of Thomas’s comfort and consent during their “negotiation”, but he doubted that ‘subspace’ was a thing that they would ever really need a plan for. Newt’s description of it sounded too out there, too extreme.

But hasn’t _everything_ he’s done with Newt felt extreme compared to how Thomas felt doing even the basic things with other people?

Sometimes they don’t even have to get naked for Thomas to get a buzz off of the way he and Newt plays. He doesn’t care what the real words are for it - to Thomas, the experience feels just like that, like a high. And when they _are_ naked, and in the Green Room, in the middle of a game of either Newt’s or Thomas’s choosing...

“-beautiful against your skin,” Newt is saying as Thomas zones in and out of alert thought. He hears everything Newt says, understands him - means his answers when he tells Newt ‘yes’ or ‘green’ or ‘no’. (Or ‘yes,please... please, Newt, yes.’) But he can’t seem to focus long enough for anything other than that. “I almost wish I’d whipped you first. You liked that, the time that I whipped you, didn’t you, Tommy? My marks on your skin, beneath these ropes... Well, we’ll have to keep that in mind for next time, won’t we? Is this too tight?”

“No, Newt.”

They’re not. The green length of silk rope that Newt’s threaded through the eyelet hooks to either side of the chair’s left arm rest, criss crossing around Thomas’s left arm, tighten when Newt prepares to knot the end at last. It tightens again as he forms the base of the knot. Thomas flexes his muscles as Newt told him to before each knot is tied... and nothing happens. The ropes don’t move. Thomas’s arm doesn’t so much as shift within their grasp. 

But the ropes aren’t too tight. They aren’t cutting into his skin, their silky softness ungiving but not uncomfortable. And since Thomas can’t move against them, they shouldn’t chafe.

“Good,” Newt says and ties the knot at last. Now both of Thomas’s arms are bound tightly to the chair’s arms. He can’t so much as curl the fingers of his right hand. The first loop of the rope binding Thomas’s left starts mid-palm, so Thomas can’t move his thumb or lift his hand past the wrist, but he can move his left fingers if he has to.

“Now for your legs,” Newt says, right by his ear, passing behind the chair, and Thomas just breathes.

He doesn’t know how long this has been going on... with Newt securing Thomas to the chair - starting by stroking and scratching, kissing and nipping at the skin that will be soon partially covered by ropes or thin, narrow sashes of the same colored silk. The sashes criss-crossing Thomas’s chest and abdomen make it impossible for him to shift his weight in the chair’s comfortably padded seat. They leave his nipples exposed, and Newt took great advantage of that while testing his knots - playing with them until Thomas’s cock was twitching and leaking against his belly and the sashes there. 

And, of course, Newt is talking. 

“-doing so well, Tommy. Look at you, waiting so patiently. So _obediently_. Let’s test the bindings on your arms one last time before we continue, shall we?” he says, kneeling again on the pillow he placed on the floor between Thomas’s spread legs. 

The sight has Thomas twitching again, the hot look in Newt’s eyes as he looks up at Thomas such a contrast to the calm, measured tone of his voice- 

Thomas is allowed to make noise - Newt _encouraged_ him to do it - and he does. He lets himself groan, loudly.

“Yes, Tommy, that’s good,” Newt praises him, hands sliding up Thomas’s thighs and then back to his knees, slowly. “That’s good. Let it out. Don’t hold back how you’re feeling. Just don’t forget to keep your eyes open. I want to see them. See what I’m doing to you. It’s as clear as a picture, looking into your pretty eyes. You are gloriously wrecked right now, aren’t you? And we haven’t even begun. Yes, love. Moan for me. Just like that...”

If this lofty, surreal feeling... of being caught up on the wave of feelings Newt’s eyes, his voice, and his touch have punched open in Thomas, loosed - flowing - from him isn’t what it feels like to get the tiniest taste of what Newt described as ‘subspace,’ Thomas doesn’t know what anyone else would call it. 

“Imagine that if you could break free of those ropes,” Newt says, “I would let you come. Of course, I won’t. You won’t be coming tonight until I’ve nearly finished with you. But I’d like you to pretend that you will if you can only undo those knots I’ve tied.” Newt’s hands rest just above Thomas’s knees and his grip becomes tight. Very tight. _Try_ , Tommy,” he commands, eyes burning and voice firm. “Don’t hurt yourself, but do genuinely try to break loose. Do you understand what I want from you?”

“Y-yes-”

“Tell me.”

“Y-you want me... to try- try to move my arms...”

“Yes?”

“And- and imagine that... that I’ll get to come,” Thomas is too out of it to care that his voice is breaking, but he sees how the heat flares in Newt’s steady gaze as it does. “That I’ll get to come if I can.”

“When _will_ you get to come, Thomas?” Newt prompts - his name the subtlest punishment for leaving out a key detail.

“When-” Thomas hurries to answer, to redeem himself. No one calls him ‘Tommy’ like Newt does. Thomas loves it. “When you’re done with me,” he says.

“Very good, Tommy,” Newt praises him again, as if nothing’s happened, and Thomas would squirm with the way just that makes him feel - if he could. “Color?”

“Green,” Thomas huffs out with the breath that leaves him when Newt firmly spreads his legs as far as they’ll go in the seat. Thomas hadn’t even realized they had closed slightly.

Then, with no other warning, Newt ducks down and takes Thomas’s cock back into his mouth.

Thomas whimpers and moans and, finally, shouts. “ _God_. Fuck... God, _Newt_...”

He does exactly what Newt told him to do. He fights the ropes, what little that he can with his entire upper body secured to the chair. He imagines how good it would feel if he could come into the beautiful mouth working him over so relentlessly. Eventually Newt deepthroats him and hums, loud and long, with his tongue pressed along Thomas’s shaft, and Thomas feels wetness on his face. Finds himself giving before the ropes can even hint that they could.

“I’m- I’m gonna- <>Newt! Newt, I’ll come- I’ll come...”

Newt pulls off of him completely, and Thomas shouts again, this time wordlessly.

“It’s alright... It’s alright, Tommy,” he only hears Newt saying after the terrible, incredible rush of approaching - and abandoned - orgasm stops making him deaf and dumb. “That was so lovely. Oh, love... You’re so lovely. It’s alright.”

Newt’s pressed their foreheads together, is cradling Thomas’s face in his hands, and Thomas melts into the comfort.

“Thank- thank you... thank you,” Thomas stops saying when he finally realizes he’s rambling, and Newt kisses him on the lips.

Newt does this for him for ages, while Thomas recovers himself. Kissing him. Stroking him; every part of him except for his cock. 

When he moves off of Thomas’s lap and back onto the cushion, Thomas almost sobs.

“It’s alright, Tommy,” Newt says a final time. “I’m not going to touch you again so soon. I’m ready to finish tying you down now. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes...”

“One day I’m going to secure you to this chair, just like this,” Newt says casually, like he’s remarking on the weather or what he had for lunch today. “And I’m just going to make you come and come and come... I’ll do everything I can think of to do it. I’ll use my mouth... my hands.” He’s stroking Thomas’s legs now like he had Thomas’s arms before he tied them down. “I’ll ride you. And when I’m tired of all that... Perhaps I’ll bring out one of the machines. I’ve never even shown you those, but you agreed in our contract that you’d like to try them. Do you remember that?”

Thomas feels almost light-headed. He has to remember how to breathe, much less to speak.

But Newt is apparently only asking rhetorically, because he moves on to a check-in without Thomas’s response. Of course Thomas says ‘green’. Again.

“Good that,” Newt says. And then he spends a considerable amount of time mouthing at every inch of Thomas’s thighs and calves - even the arch of each foot.

By the time Thomas is entirely bound to the chair, he is most certainly floating.

Newt’s voice is all that keeps him tethered.

“I’d like to show you a couple of the chair’s hidden features now,” Newt says, bringing him back down for a moment. “If you’d still like for me to fuck your mouth-”

“ _Yes_. Yes, please...”

Newt stands as he asks, and Thomas almost whimpers as he answers. Newt’s gaze is fierce and dark, his pupils blown as wide as Thomas’s must be, and a light sheen of sweat glistens on the flat planes and taut muscles of his whip-lean body. He casually unbuttons his pants, stood there between Thomas’s legs, and Thomas forgets for a moment that he can’t reach for him, can’t touch him.

“Oh, fuck...” he moans. “Newt...”

“Feel along the side of the chair arm beneath your left fingers,” Newt commands, “And test the buttons you’ll find there. See what they do.”

Of course Thomas does. He finds the small buttons almost immediately. The one furthest forward causes the soft lights of the Green Room to all, as one, suddenly glow red; the center button turns the light yellow. The last button, then - obviously - washes everything in a green glow.

“It’s a handy feature,” Newt is saying, like he’s selling Thomas a piece of furniture rather than preparing to fuck him on it. “With the buttons, you don’t need your mouth to check in. You can tell me whether you’d like to stop... to slow down... or to continue without speaking at all. So I can enjoy your mouth without pause. Or I could gag you if I wanted. Hood you, even. There’s a mask made specifically for use with this exact chair that I can show you next time, in case you’d like to try it.”

The thought is too much for Thomas at this moment, so he lets it pass without question. Newt’s thumb, rubbing back and forth along the seam of Thomas’s parted lips, gets all of Thomas’s attention.

“Let’s try it,” Newt says next... and suddenly leans in, cupping one large hand over Thomas’s mouth completely. “Color?” he asks simply, while Thomas’s breath is still stuttering.

Thomas presses the ‘green’ button again without needing to consider it.

Newt replaces his hand with his mouth and kisses Thomas long and deep. Then he reaches down and expertly works Thomas towards the very edge of climax yet again. With long, tight strokes, and quick, sharp tugs... interspersed with plenty of breaks to gently squeeze and fondle Thomas’s balls, to play with the head of his cock and massage the slit-

Thomas is simply whimpering and gasping against Newt’s mouth as Newt kisses and licks into him by the time Newt pulls back, removing his hand without acknowledging Thomas’s broken cry at the loss of sensation.

Instead, he walks away with Thomas panting, tiny near-sobs trembling on his lips. He doesn’t see but he hears Newt retrieve something from an armoire across the room, and then Newt’s installing two small, padded rests midway down the chair’s tall and wide back using the hooks inset into it. The rests are too short for anyone’s arms, but then Thomas recovers enough functional thought to realize that of course they are. They’re for something else.

The floatiness is back. The waves. Each of his heartbeats is a break on a shore Thomas could just as happily drift towards forever. Who cares if he ever gets there? 

Newt steps back so that Thomas can see him finally remove the last of his clothing. 

“God, you’re beautiful...” somehow manages to form itself intelligently on his clumsy tongue, whisper soft and shaky - as light as seafoam - but Newt hears it.

His smile makes the waves break faster. 

“You’re the one who’s beautiful, Tommy,” he says , climbing into Thomas’s lap. He strokes Thomas’s face, his throat, following the path of his fingers with his lips. Thomas’s nipples get the same treatment before finally Newt is back to kissing his lips. 

“No, you,” Thomas may or may not say, earning him the chuckle Newt smothers in their next kiss. He shifts and slides and then their cocks are pressed together, and Thomas loses track of every sound that comes out of his own mouth for long moments.

“I’m finally going to fuck you now, Tommy,” Newt says, stroking both their cocks in one hand together. “Would you like that?”

“Yes. Please...”

“I’m going to tease you once more, before I do,” Newt warns him. “I’m going to push you right up to the very last second this time. Do you understand? You’ll have to warn me when you’re there so that I don’t accidentally make you come. Can you do that, Tommy?”

There will be no avoiding it this time. Newt’s going to turn him into a sobbing mess. Thomas feels a shudder wrack his whole body. It is an indescribable sensation with his whole body bound the way it is. “Oh god...”

“ _Can_ you?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, Newt...”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m su-”

“Color?”

Thomas presses the green button with a shaky breath. Then he accidentally presses it a second time in his urgency.

“I’m sure. I’m sure, Newt,” he stutters into Newt’s mouth with their next kiss. “Please. Do it. Just do it, please. Make me want to come. I can take it. I can take one more. Newt, please.”

Newt kisses him harder than he’s kissed him all night, saying things into Thomas’s mouth that he can’t quite make out. Thomas thinks he makes out the words ‘bloody treasure’ among them, but he has something else to focus on before he can decide.

The slide of Newt’s cock against his own... so hard, warm and smooth. Newt’s large, strong hand, and that perfect grip. Newt uses the precome leaking generously from Thomas’s cock now to slick them both, and before long he is using both hands to work them over, breathing heavily into their kisses, his voice a rough, dark version of itself as he promises Thomas that he still plans to ride him after he’s fucked Thomas’s mouth.

“- so bloody lovely, Tommy,” Newt is saying when Thomas reaches the point where he’s just about ready to yell. “So bloody perfect. I could touch you like this all day, but I won’t. I want to feel that lovely mouth on my cock. I want the taste of me to still be on your tongue while I ride you. I want to feel this lovely cock inside of me.”

“N-Newt-”

“We are _definitely_ using one of the machines next time,” Newt tells him, directly beside his ear, so that Thomas can feel the puff of his breath against his sweat-slick skin. “I don’t want your cock to go neglected for even a moment. I’ll hook you up just before I take your mouth. Perhaps I’ll work a nice, large vibrator into your ass before that. Something with a nice curve to it... so that that sweet spot inside of you isn’t neglected either.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Thomas breathes out like a punch. “Oh, fuck, Newt-”

“Yes, you’ll like that,” Newt just keeps speaking. “If you think these ropes are frustrating now, when my goal is _not_ to make you come too quickly... Just wait until that is all I’ve set out to do. Again. And again. And again...”

“ _Fuck, Newt, please... God, please..._ ”

“Are you there, then, Tommy? You can’t get any closer?” Newt asks sharply, catching his gaze and holding it. 

“ _Yes_! Oh, please, yes-”

Newt’s hands abruptly _twist_ , and stars burst behind Thomas’s eyelids. His body is quaking inside, although it’s held motionless inside of his bonds.

“Newt, oh god, _please_...”

“Don’t be hasty, love,” Newt pushes. “Can’t you take any more? For me?”

“I-”

“It feels so good touching you this way with my hands,” Newt says. “With my cock.”

“P-please...”

“Doesn’t it feel good? My hands on you? My cock pressing against yours?” Newt teases. _Torments_ , actually. “Do you really want it to stop?”

“I- I can’t-”

Another twist, and Thomas is legitimately crying. The waves inside of him are crashing like lightning strikes.

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“ _I want to be good_ ,” punches out of him on a sob.

“Oh, you are, lovely,” Newt coos, gentling but not stopping his wonderful, terrible, _excruciatingly_ fantastic strokes. “You are being so, so good for me, Tommy. You’ve just to be good a while longer, and I’ll make it stop. I promise. Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart.”

Thomas does. He can no longer think but to do as Newt asks. Not just because he wishes to do it, but because there is nothing inside of him - nothing he wants, nothing he fears, nothing he can think about - except for what Newt tells him. He is no longer being washed over by waves of sensation - he has sunk completely beneath them.

“Color?” Newt asks, hands still moving, though cautiously now, still relentless.

“Green...” Thomas barely breathes. All his other words have sunk beneath the waves with him. He only moans, gasps, and cries as the sensations continue. 

Newt must track how close he is from what he can see in Thomas’s eyes, because Thomas is nearly past sobbing when stars start to burst before his eyes again and he feels his balls start to tingle and tighten with the threat of a wave-breaking orgasm.

And that’s when Newt releases him, slides back on Thomas’s thighs to sit and watch as Thomas crashes back, away from that peak, untouched and unable even to flinch from the crushing feeling of denial. Newt’s taken Thomas’s head in his hands so he can’t even shake that in protest. He can only cry and cry out and fight his way back above the waves through the shock of it all.

“Good, so very good, Tommy,” Newt keeps repeating. “It’s alright. Breathe... Breathe, love.”

“I need- I need it...” Thomas whimpers mindlessly, brokenly.

“And you will have it. Once I’ve finished, I will give it to you, Tommy,” Newt promises. “Oh, will I give it to you. You have earned the most mind-shattering of orgasms tonight. I will absolutely take you apart with the one I give you. But I’m going to finish playing with you first. Agreed?”

Thomas must, although the next thing he is vividly aware of is Newt climbing out of his lap... and up onto the chair and then onto the new rests, placing his knees on them so that he is kneeling before Thomas, hands on the back of the chair for balance. And his cock is exactly in front of Thomas’s mouth.

“Remember the buttons,” Newt cautions, and then he’s placing one hand tenderly- shakily; Thomas can feel how their game is affecting him as well in the unsteadiness of his touch - on Thomas’s jaw. Then his cock is at Thomas’s lips and Thomas opens his mouth wide for it, welcoming it in. 

Newt’s loud groan is the most gratifying reward for everything that Thomas has endured since sitting in this chair. The satisfaction in it rushes through him, as heady as adrenaline, and he needs no direction to throw himself wholeheartedly into giving Newt the best possible blowjob he can manage without his hands to help him.

It’s an experience unlike anything Thomas has ever had before. The soft but unyielding grasp of the ropes, the creak of the chair rests with Newt’s every thrust into Thomas’s mouth, the burn of it after a while - holding his lips spread open so wide, as Newt pushes in. Newt’s unrestrained moans and praises and breathy curses... The taste of him, on Thomas’s tongue.

Newt was right. It is going to be exceptionally hot having Newt ride him with that taste still in his mouth.

Absolutely nothing is touching Thomas’s cock now, and still he feels it jerk as Newt makes a particularly pleased sound and suddenly reaches with one hand for Thomas’s hair, fisting in it and holding Thomas still.

“Relax your jaw and let me,” he commands as he tilts Thomas’s head in such a way - inserts his thumb in the corner of Thomas’s mouth - so that Thomas can no longer take part in blowing him... he can only let his mouth be taken and try to hold his tongue the way that Newt likes it best when he fucks Thomas’s mouth like this.

Newt presses in deep, deeper... He grunts as if Thomas is physically assaulting him.

“Let me... know. Your color. Tommy. Let me-”

Thomas presses the green button, and Newt releases a sound almost like a sob himself.

“I’m going to come,” Newt says. “I’m going to come inside you right now.”

Thomas presses the green button.

“Tommy... _Tommy_... Please-”

Thomas hums... and Newt comes with a cry, cock twitching against Thomas’s tongue and spilling at the back of his throat.

Thomas has never given anyone the kind of control Newt has over him - has never been so helpless.

And he’s never felt so powerful.


End file.
